


years gone by

by Transistors



Series: Sweet, Silent Love [2]
Category: Twin Peaks
Genre: Alternate Canon, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-17 18:25:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14195016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Transistors/pseuds/Transistors
Summary: That is how Andy finds him; settled on a log, gun discarded and dropped, hap-hazardously, on the ground before him while Harry stares off in the distance at... absolutely nothing. Yet he doesn't know what Harry has witnessed, that he has seen the red drapes part by Cooper's hands before the agent slinks away and never returns.And still, that is how Andy finds him.





	years gone by

**Author's Note:**

> I've been thinking about the scene where Harry just stays up until early morning waiting for Dale to come back, and I couldn't stop thinking about it? So I finally wrote something for this. This is kind of canon-compliant - it's still based off of the... finale? Of Season 2 I think? I can't remember, but instead of Bagent Bale Booper coming out, Cooper is just missing in this one.
> 
> Lots of sadness and Harry not taking care of himself properly for the sake of Cooper. I spent _not enough time_ writing this.
> 
> Also, I listened to Laura's Theme on REPEAT for this, to set the perfect sad mood.
> 
>  **EDIT:** Finally added this to the series that I meant to when I initially wrote this. The kiss in this fic is in reference to the first one in this series.

“Sheriff Truman?” A voice calls out, in the soft dawn of the day – the sun barely peeking out from the clouds, light filtering through the dense trees of Twin Peaks, and Harry finds himself rooted upon one of the logs. He stares at where Cooper has disappeared off to, gun laying flat on the dirt beneath him but he can’t bring himself to care about the fact that the weapon is just discarded there. Andy’s approach is barely acknowledged, barely even seen by him; his eyes focusing, solely, on the spot where the curtains appeared before swallowing Cooper up and away.

There is a soft thud as Andy falls next to him, eyes wide and cautious, concern etched all over his face from the little that Harry has peeked – but nonetheless, he stares at the endless rows of trees before him. “Sheriff Truman?” Andy asks again, his voice soft and timid; like always. Something that hasn’t changed with time, and Harry doesn’t respond.

He doesn’t know how many hours he has stayed awake here, waiting for Cooper to come back. Waiting for any signs of the red curtains to appear once more, part, and let through the man that he has grown so very attached to over the course of their time together in little Twin Peaks.

Good old Twin Peaks, where nothing ever really happens… until it does, until they uproot themselves and burn through the very core of this town, until people are poking holes and noses into businesses that they shouldn’t be, until Harry is seeing the world crumble around him. With Josie gone, the town in shambles, Leland passed away and whatever BOB is…

Cooper can’t go too.

A gentle, caring hand rests itself on his back and Harry doesn’t move. His own hand curls from where his arm is draped over his knee, the other forming a shaking fist underneath his chin and Andy rubs soothing circles on his back. “Sheriff Truman,” Andy starts slowly, a hush heard in the still, cool air, “would you like some coffee?”

The ‘yeah’ that spills free from his lips is automatic, monotone. He stares, still, at where Cooper has disappeared off to, and the rubbing motion on his back does not stop. “Sheriff Truman,” Andy says, “would you like some coffee with dessert?” another emotionless ‘yeah’ as a response, and Andy – patient, blessed Andy – does not back away. “Let’s go get some coffee together.”

Despite that, he doesn’t move. He stays seated on the log with Harry, the rubbing never once ceasing and it takes only a few shaky, heavy moments before he relents to Andy’s soothing presence. His shoulders slump, eyes aching and itchy with the lack of sleep, and his hands are rubbing at them before he can stop himself. “Sheriff Truman,” Andy’s voice is so sweet, he almost feels like he doesn’t deserve it, “do you want to tell me what happened?”

Harry is not one to cry. He never has been. Not for as long as he can remember, and he can remember quite a _lot_ of his life if someone is to ask. Yet he turns his head towards Andy, takes in that gentle face of his, and his eyes screw shut as the waterworks begin. There are no more words said between them as Andy’s arms wrap around him, taking him in close and cradling him against his chest, and Harry’s teeth grit together as the tears pour freely.

He doesn’t know how long he stays in Andy’s embrace, his tears having stopped some time ago and now all he can muster up are dry, pathetic hiccups. He is still held by Andy when he stands, forcing Harry to stand with him, and he only lets go to grab the gun on the dirt beneath them before he is patting at his back and urging him back to town. His eyes burn, exhaustion hitting him hard – finally – and Harry nearly slumps and loses sight of the world to sleep.

It is only when Andy grabs his shoulder and shakes him does he manage to stumble away from the five second sleep he has fallen into. “Stay awake with me, Sheriff Truman.” the panicked words etch themselves into his skin, his retinas screaming at him to sleep with how his vision blurs constantly, but Andy keeps him tethered to the waking world.

The way back is one long, fumbling stroll – the trees glare down at him, branches brushing against his body and dragging at his clothes every once in a while, and bugs crawl under Harry’s skin at the thought of being in the forest for any longer. His paranoia spikes, the screaming feeling of _danger_ permeating every cell of his body, and Harry can only feel some gratitude to God that Andy is here with him.

Lucy, for once, is blessedly quiet when she sees Harry’s state and Andy is careful as he helps put away all of the police equipment back to where it belongs. “I’m gonna take him home now, Lucy.” Andy enunciates slowly, his speech so familiar and grounding that tears nearly spring forward from Harry’s eyes.

Cooper isn’t here to look at Harry and say something playfully chipper yet quietly worried, isn’t there to put a hand on his elbow and whisper into his ear if he needs anything.

He thinks back to their kiss. He thinks back to how Cooper always tries to be as close to him as physically possible. He thinks back to the way Cooper’s fingers will always rest atop Harry’s, feather-light as to not be suspicious yet close enough to feel intimate. Always so gentle, always _there._ Even with his wacky plans and crazy, maybe-true bullshit.

Always so… so conspicuous with his usual eccentricity.

When he gets home with Andy’s help and falls asleep in his uniform, Harry ends up sleeping most of the day away. His dreams are plagued with Cooper returning to him, only to fall into a sea of red… and he cannot wake from them. His body is heavy, mind tired, and when he wakes it feels as though he hasn’t rested at all.

Almost on autopilot, he returns to the station. Hawk looks at him with those calculating, sharp eyes of his and Harry tries not to look into them; tries not to lay himself bare towards the one man he knows can pick him apart. “Sheriff,” Lucy’s voice, bumbling and sweet, is not enough to make him look up at her, “where’s Agent Cooper?”

When he doesn’t respond, the silence hanging heavy over them, everyone just slowly looks at him like they can’t believe him. Hawk is quick to be by his side, a hand on his shoulder, and Andy looks unsure as to whether or not he should approach. “You don’t have to tell us right now, Harry.” Hawk reassures. “Take your time.”

“I’ll find him.” is the only thing he says after an extended silence, and Hawk simply looks into him. “Even if waiting is the only way to do it.”

The rubbing on his shoulder doesn’t stop, but it does little to soothe the anxiety settling in his stomach. “We’re here for you.” Hawk says after a while. “Through thick and thin, Harry. You just have to tell us what happened to Agent Cooper later, alright?” he finds his voice unable to break out of his throat, and Harry just nods… and after that, his life _changes._

He sticks true to his promise; he throws himself into trying to find Cooper, sinking hours and hours into the library and archives to try and find anything that can even remotely sound similar to the _nonsense_ that is their case right now. Time passes by so quickly, or so it seems, and yet Harry is still able to mark out each month that has come and gone.

Andy and Hawk are ever diligent by his side, and he is surprised to find that even Albert is coming to help him. When he asks the snarky, insufferable man why, one day, Harry is given a look that seems _almost_ angry… until he catches the glossy glint in his eyes, the subtly quivering lower lip, and the slow deliberate breaths he takes, and a part of him hurts.

His voice is scathing, yet toned down and almost forced, when he says, “because I know, Sheriff, how it feels to watch that man run off, do whatever he wants, and almost not come back.” There is something shaky in his voice, and Harry can only look into his eyes with something _close_ to understanding. Albert scoffs. “I’m simply trying to help find a colleague and a friend and bring him back again. Don’t think anything of it.”

That day, Harry finds himself understanding Albert a little more, even if he still does not like the man one lick. He won’t admit it, either, but the words give him a soft reassurance that nothing else has been able to the past few months. He has to be forced to stop his investigation by Hawk, and it becomes a routine for Andy to drive him home after the former has stopped Harry from working.

It becomes even more routine for Lucy to stay at his home with him, gently shuffling away investigative papers so that Harry can relax. Not like he can, he wants to say; dreams of Cooper running through red rooms plague him every night, of people speaking backwards and Cooper not at all, and Harry wakes up at five o’clock sharp every day.

In one dream, Cooper speaks. He can’t parse it, can only make out the surprised fear written on Cooper’s face as he stares upwards – as though into a camera – and lets the jumbled words tumble from his once-grinning mouth. The only thing word Harry can understand is _‘years’,_ and when he wakes up on the first day of the first month of a new year, he hastily dresses himself then rushes back to the forest.

Almost mechanically, Harry finds the same log from that night – untouched and unmoved by _anything –_ and settles down on it once more. The clearing in which Cooper has disappeared into stares back at him, taunting him, and Harry’s short nails feel like claws as they sink onto his jean-covered knees. He breathes heavily and slowly, almost as if in fear that whatever hope will be broken if he acts even the least bit normal.

Hours pass, and he doesn’t even notice that it is time to go to the station until it is far too late. He stares and stares at the rows upon rows of trees, feels the cold sink into his face and make it sting, and the hunger and thirst gnaws at him when his stomach starts to gurgle and growl painfully. He waits and stares, body going pale from the lack of care, and Harry can’t bring himself to leave.

What if Cooper comes back? What if he misses his chance and Cooper passes out here, left free for anyone to pick up and take away? What if he-

“Sheriff Truman.” Andy’s voice cuts through and he is hit with a nauseating feeling of deja vu. Frozen in place, Andy stands in front of him this time and Harry looks up at him slowly. Andy reaches out to him and Harry takes his hand, lets himself be coerced into standing, and he leans against the other heavily to try and steady himself.

Unceremoniously, Andy ends up having to pick him up and carry him to the diner – where Norma reluctantly takes his money as he buys breakfast for Harry. “What’s wrong, sheriff?” Norma asks, and he can’t bring himself to answer, and she backs off when Andy looks at her imploringly. Everything is just quiet between him and Andy – the diner getting livelier with a few patrons coming and going, eagerly ordering breakfast and having it here or to go, with friends or family.

His hands shake when he gets the first bite of breakfast once it is served and Andy watches him carefully, like a parent worried for their toddler, and shame briefly burns at Harry’s face. “Sheriff,” Andy starts, “I know that… I know that this is important to you but if you – if you decide to go back there, maybe… think of bringing me with you?

“I’ll have a coffee and doughnut ready for ya.” Harry just nods while staring back at his own image reflected in the coffee, and his eyes widen when he swears – _swears_ on his soul, whether it goes to Heaven or Hell – that he can see Cooper’s face reflecting back at him. This time, the tears don’t come as easily and Harry manages to drink his coffee finally.

It doesn’t warm him up, doesn’t give to him the comfort that it normally does; not when all he can think about is Cooper, where he is, where he could be, where he has been taken to, what has been done to him -

He can’t – absolutely _can’t –_ relax when he knows that Cooper needs him, and his heart aches and slams against his rib-cage at the thought of the other being gone. He should have put more effort into their relationship, a voice in Harry’s head hisses, he should have been there for Cooper more. Should have given him more affection.

Now he – he is gone. Not dead, but – but somewhere that Harry can’t follow, all stuck with people who speak in tongues and rooms with drapes so red he feels like he is wrapped up and contained in a silk heart. Regret burns him through and he settles one elbow on the diner counter, hand rubbing at his forehead, and Andy is immediately huddling closer in an attempt to comfort.

“He’s gone, Andy.” Harry manages out, voice tight and stuck in his throat. “He’s-- he’s out there somewhere, Andy, and I can’t get to him.”

“We’ll find him, Sheriff, I know we will. Everyone thinks so. Even Albert!”

He closes his eyes. “Andy,” Harry says in a whisper, so soft that Andy has to strain to hear it, and he finds himself laying pieces of his soul for the other before he can catch himself, “there was – _is_ so much I want to say to Dale.” the use of his first name makes Andy look at him in shock, though he blissfully stays quiet about it. “I have – I have so much to tell him, and now I won’t be able to until I bring him back.

“Andy, you can’t tell this to _anyone,_ you understand? I am in love with that damn man, and I can’t lose him now after all this, I _can’t.”_ There is silence that follows, and Andy takes his hand in his own and squeezes him reassuringly…

Yet all Harry can think about is how Dale never got to hold his hand.

**Author's Note:**

> [My twitter.](https://twitter.com/starrelia) | [My tumblr.](http://www.masculinedevil.tumblr.com) Drop me some messages sometime! 8D


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